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I hope you have a hangover.

18 Mar

Yesterday was St. Patrick’s Day. I probably didn’t need to tell you that, did I? (I can picture you, still lying in bed, reading this with a mild hangover, disgusted that there is a green stain on your pillow from where you drooled green beer in your sleep. Sound about right?)

Well, as it turns out: I’m old, and St. Patty’s Day only served to underline how old.

Here is a list of random observations that tell me I’m starting to resemble that lady (Edna?) on the Shoebox greeting cards.

  • I went to yoga in the morning. On my way, every person I passed was either toting a six-pack of beer or wearing a bar-crawl wristband. Did I mention I was going to yoga?
  • The only green I wore was an MSU hoodie, because the Spartans are playing this weekend.
  • I got so immersed reading a book in Dupont Circle that when I heard bagpipes I thought it was a funeral procession.
  • People-watching led me to tweet: “If you can’t walk in those shoes when you’re sober, then they were probably an especially poor pick for a pub crawl.”
  • I saw a few dogs wearing shamrock bandanas around their necks and thought it was cute. But I’m so practical, I sent Alan a text saying, “I really want to adopt a cat today – who’s with me?” Because old people know they don’t have the energy for a dog.
  • I googled “Irish Step Dancers” because I actually wanted to see some Riverdance action.
  • I prepared and filed my taxes. With my window open. While watching my neighbors play beer pong on their deck.
  • Four young-looking people showed up in Dupont Circle and did and awkward clap-dance to promote some show they’re putting on. I assumed they were just four drunk kids who lost a bet until I googled the name on their t-shirts. Turns out they’re Georgetown students. Here is their group’s logo, which I think looks like either a stylized animal face or some kind of vagina-labyrinth:

The kicker? Even Obama (O’Bama?) hit a local Irish bar to have a Guinness. I’m getting out-paced – both in my bracket picks AND the St. Patrick’s Day scene by someone 13 years older than me. At least I can find solace in knowing that I have a better job.

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Who has the Christmas spirit? Hint: might not be me.

14 Dec

I will be buying you some of these. You're welcome.

I recently posted about a gift exchange that jumped the rails due to my keen observational skills. If you missed that post, I’ll summarize: I’ve repeatedly given earrings to a good friend who doesn’t have pierced ears. Blam!

Rolling into the holidays, you might think that I’m operating with a high degree of anxiety, knowing that another gift exchange is in my near future. You couldn’t be more wronger™. Nope. I’m not stressed at all. Know why?

Because instead of exchanging gifts, Betsy and I have decided to adopt a DC family in need and spend our money on them instead. Brilliant, right?!

Well, at least, I thought it was brilliant, until I received the family’s wish list. It’s a single mom with two sons. The boys have legitimate items on their wish lists. But the mom? Know what she wants? A gift card to Victoria’s Secret.

Please excuse me while I go all judgmental and decidedly un-charitable for a moment.

You. Must. Be. Shitting. Me.

Let’s rewind. You have two children that you’re struggling to support, so you think the answer is to… buy sexy lingerie and have more sex and potentially create another baby? No. Way.

I want to sit this woman down and say, “Honey. I’m a bleeding heart liberal. I am happy to be taxed if it means a better standard of living for everyone. But you? You’re going to ruin it for everyone needing assistance by asking for shit you do not need.”

“I mean, I’m happy to help give your kids a good Christmas, and I’m happy to help you pick up some essentials for your household. But Victoria’s Secret? That’s a luxury, not a necessity. If you need underwear, there are many, many other stores that sell them. For a fraction of the price. And with more fabric.”

Actually, it’s the holidays. I shouldn’t judge. This is my opportunity to be someone’s Christmas miracle. I think I’ll take that sentiment to heart, and go beyond what’s on her wishlist. In fact, I already have a perfect idea for a stocking stuffer:

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I like to think of road rage as a personality test.

17 Oct

For the umpteenth year in a row, DC has been named America’s worst city when it comes to traffic. Considering I’ve only put 13,000 miles on my car in the last three years, it’s hard for me to weigh in with any real authority, but I will say that I can generally get to my office faster on foot (25 minutes) than I can by car.

While I don’t love it, at least I can understand rush hour traffic. Hundreds of thousands of people are trying to get to roughly the same place, at the same time. That’s naturally going to lead to some gridlock.

What I don’t understand is weekend traffic. Nothing makes me more infuriated than when I think I’m going to run a quick errand — and end up sitting in my car for an hour trying to leave the District on a Saturday. Which is exactly what happened this weekend.

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I’m just here for the books.

11 Oct

Happy Columbus Day, old man.

I walk to the MLK Jr. branch of the DC public library on Saturday to pick up a book I had on hold. It was a gorgeous day, so I was glad to invent a purpose for a four mile walk.

The city was kind of odd — despite the great weather, it was desserted in areas that are normally nuts on the weekend, and over-run with people in areas normally desserted. I suppose I could’ve solved that mystery earlier by picking up a copy of the Washington Post, and realizing a) It was Columbus Day weekend, so many locals were traveling, and b) It was Columbus Day weekend, so Taste of DC was luring people downtown on the weekend.

In any case, I was caught off guard when I approached the library, and saw a virtual party in motion. Lining the street in front of it was a MetroBus with representatives handing out literature about the bus schedule, and a Whitman Walker van providing free HIV testing.

On my way into the library, I passed Mayor  Vincent Gray, glad-handing with a few fans while his bodyguard looked on. (At least, I assume that was his bodyguard. Or his especially thuggish looking cousin. You never know in DC.)

This dog belongs in a library.

Inside the library, the trip continued. A live gospel/jazz band was playing (on Volume 12!) while 50+ people (mostly senior citizens wearing shirts made of Old Glory) looked on, clapping and bobbing. I threaded by way through the crowd to retrieve my book from the Holds shelf.

I got distracted in the Popular Collections room, browsing CDs while tapping my toes to the band’s version of “Papa Was a Rolling Stone,” but apparently not as distracted as the woman who had walked her two DOGS into the library and somehow lost the leash of the massive Golden Retriever. I looked up just in time to see it sprint out of Popular Collections, into the main foyer and across the stage where the Jazz Band was performing.

I can’t really get on the owner for being slow to the draw, because when I went to check out my book, I asked the clerk what the occasion was. “Is this a Columbus Day festival?” I asked.

He looked at me with some degree of incredulity before scanning the crowd, which — as I followed his eyes, I realized — was made up primarily of people sporting wheelchairs, canes or walkers.

“This is in celebration of Americans with Disabilities,” he told me.

And suddenly, it all made sense — the extra-loud music, the free medical tests, the dogs in a library, the flag-themed clothing.

As someone wearing a tank top and sporting a yoga mat strapped to me, I felt especially foolish for having trotted through the crowd. Next time? I’m going to take advantage of that free vision test.

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My unsolicited sales advice finds two audiences.

2 Oct

On my way to Safeway this weekend, I got stopped by a guy with a clipboard who was trying to gain support for an anti-hate crime support. Usually I walk past sidewalk campaigners, but for whatever reason, I allowed him to engage me.

His memorization of statistics was impressive, and his delivery of the message was smooth, but it ran a bit long. I cut him off, saying, “I believe in your cause, but I make a practice of only giving online. Do you have a web address I could go to?”

Instead of answering my question, he pulled out a form for sidewalk donations and started a long pitch for how they’re “only looking for a modest donation of a dollar a day…” Still trying to be polite, I said, “Again, I won’t give money on the street, but if you have a URL I’ll visit it when I get home.”

And again, he didn’t answer my question but instead plowed forward with his pitch, trying to close me  to make an on-the-spot donation. It pissed me off, and although I tend to be a polite person, I realized that if he wasn’t going to listen to me, I wasn’t going to listen to him. So I just raised my hand, said, “You need to learn to listen,” and walked away, muttering “asshole” under my breath.

Apparently I’m not good at turning off my job, because it wasn’t the first piece of sales advice I offered this weekend.

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